


Perpetual Lucidity

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Series: Murder and Consequences [10]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: He just didn’t want to puke in the car.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Damian doesn’t sleep the rest of the car ride. Dick ends up reading to them. Talia definitely owns the cabin. Jason makes a lot of ‘maybe they conceived you here’ jokes that totally go over Damian’s head. Dick finds them funny, though, so. It was worth it.

The Joker was laughing, and the hilt of his sword was getting slippery in his hands, as blood flew from the wound.

 _“Shut up!”_ Damian heard himself screaming as he hit the bastard’s throat. There was a voice in the back of his head, himself, the weaker side, shouting for him to stop. That he was killing him, and everything he’d ever fought for would be worthless if he did. He didn’t stop. Just kept hitting harder. _“Shut up, shut up, shut u-”_

Without warning, his sword clanged to a stop, and when he went to pull back, it wouldn’t budge. Damian gasped as he looked down at the Joker, in amongst the heap of boxes. The sword wasn’t in his throat, but rather, in the loose grasp of the Joker’s hand.

The hand wasn’t bleeding, though.  The fingers not chopped off. The blade was just in his hand like Damian had tried to hit him with child’s toy.

Damian pulled again, and the Joker’s grip tightened.

“You made your point, kiddo.” The Joker hummed gleefully. Laughing out right when Damian began pulling in earnest, terrified little grunts leaving his mouth. “You’re going to take my head off at this rate. And I have no problem with that, really. I’m _proud_ of you even. It’s just. Well.” His grin grew. “You take off my head, I’m gonna need a _new_ one.”

Before Damian could drop the sword and run, the Joker was up, tugging Damian towards him by the blade, and dropping it to wrap an arm around him. Damian struggled, even as the Joker spun him around, and lifted him, forcing him to be back to chest against him.

Blood oozed down his back, and he shivered as he fought to get free. Kicking at the Joker’s knees, pulling weakly at the arm around his torso, even as the Joker trapped his arms in that same hold.

“Get _off_.” Damian pleaded. _“Get off!”_

“Now, lucky for you,” The Joker continued, walking forward, deeper into the warehouse. “I have a couple spare heads lying around. Wanna help me pick a new one out before you chop my most beautiful one off?”

“No…” Damian breathed, still fighting, still _trying_ , knowing it was all for naught. “N- _no_ …!”

They moved to another stack of boxes. Upright this time, not tumbled due to a body crashing through it. The Joker leaned to the side and kicked out, knocking off the front of a box, and exposing its insides.

It was his father’s head.

And not in a cowl. It wasn’t Batman, it was Bruce Wayne. Face pale and already decomposing. Tongue peeking out of a slack jaw, a fly sitting on the middle.

“Hmmmm. This one might make me look a bit big-headed, eh? Too _jock_ for my skinny little body.” The Joker cackled, even as Damian audibly gasped. He reached with his free hand, and flipped open another box. “So maybe this one?”

Barbara Gordon, in a similar state as Bruce’s. Glasses askew on her face. Cheeks cut upwards, as if in a smile.

“Mmmm, nah. Too feminine. Too… _weak_.” Joker hummed, reaching out and stroking Barbara’s cheek. Damian saw red, for that moment, and momentarily paused his own fight to escape, to reach out and smack the man’s hand away. Joker laughed, and moved his hand to another box, flipped a side off. Tim’s head, and this one was on its side, like it’d just been thrown in there. There was blood still dripping from where his neck should be, tears streaming down his face, like this kill was _fresh_. The Joker frowned. “Oh. Yeaaaah, I don’t _like_ this one.” He pushed the box back, shoving it off the pile and listening as the box shattered. “Onto the next.”

The next box wasn’t square, but long. Rectangular. And Damian’s stomach dropped.

“Ooooh, I think we’re getting to the goods now.” The Joker whistled. He jostled Damian like he was an infant, leaned around Damian’s shoulder, and looked at him with his cockeyed head almost tearing itself off its flesh. “Want to see the _goods_ , Robbie?”

Damian couldn’t find his voice. Just kept pushing and pulling, anything to escape. Anything to not see what was in those boxes.

Because that voice in the back of his head was telling him. Telling him why this was okay, and he knew it was the truth. Was _willing_ himself to know it was the truth, but that knowledge kept disappearing like wind. Like a moving cloud.

Besides, the _fear_ was real. Even if nothing else was.

“And behind door number four…” The Joker just tapped the side of the box, like he was knocking on a front door, and the panel swung downwards, like it was supposed to. “Oooooooh!” He shouted gleefully. “A collector’s set!”

On one side of the box was Dick’s head. Eyes rolled upwards and cheeks already slightly bloated in decomp. Other than that, his face looked almost regular. Perfect even, and even in his terror, Damian could see the signs of makeup across his face and hair.

On the other side was Jason, and he was much less pristine. Still had makeup, maybe, of bruises and cuts across his face. One of his eyes were missing completely, though he almost missed that detail, behind the green Robin domino across his adult face.

“The golden boy and the family failure. Oh boy, this set is _rare_ , I can’t believe I found it!” The Joker laughed, all but shoving Damian’s own face into the box. Damian squeezed his eyes shut, but before he did, he saw between the heads, where Dick and Jason’s blood had mixed, was written:

_This is your fault._

“Now which one should I pick? Beautiful and charming?” Damian was jerked to the side, and he felt his cheek rub against Dick’s. Suddenly to the other side, and against Jason’s. “Or rugged and bad boy.”

Damian couldn’t speak, and he was grateful for once, that he wasn’t actually expected to, as the Joker suddenly flung him backwards against the cold ground.

“Guess I won’t know until I try them on.” Joker hummed, even as Damian tried to shuffle backwards. But suddenly the warehouse was only this stretch of ground, and his back hit a wall.

And before Damian could look for a door – which might’ve been good, since he would have found that there _wasn’t_ one – the Joker nonchalantly tore his own head away from his skin, tossed it away, and reached out and grabbed Dick’s.

He slammed it onto the top of his spine, wriggled it a little, and then spun around. The face was suddenly functional, blinking as the Joker worked the jaw.

“Well? What do you think?” Joker asked, but it was in _Dick’s_ voice, with _Dick’s_ mouth. Damian felt his insides churning.

“P-please…don’t…I won’t.” He mumbled. “I _won’t_ …”

“I said what did you think?” Suddenly the Joker was stomping across the small space and leaning down into his face. _“Damian?”_

“No…” Damian wilted immediately, and in a reflex curled up. Brought his knees to his chest, his arms over his head. “No, no, no, no, no!”

“I said,” There were hands on his arms, jerking him to force him to look up. When he didn’t, there was a hand on his jaw, tilting his head up. “What do you-”

_No, no, no, no, no!!!!_

He jumped, and opened his eyes, and found himself on the verge of falling to the floor of the car.

Desperately, he clung to Jason’s shirt, pulling himself back up, balancing carefully on Jason’s chest and breathing heavily against the elder’s throat as he tried to gather his bearings.

Warehouse. Joker. Blood. Car. Jason. Blanket.

…Car. Jason. Blanket.

That was real. The car. The Jason. The blanket. That was _real_. Everything that just happened… _wasn’t_. That was a dream. That was a _nightmare_.

Jason stirred, but didn’t wake. Merely rocking his head to the other side. Slowly, Damian lifted himself up with hands against Jason’s chest, the comforter heavy on his shoulders.

Jason was stretched along the backseat of the car, Damian lying on top of him, using him as a mattress once more, like he did that first night in the Central City safehouse. Dick had demanded they take the blanket.

Damian turned, looked towards the front of the car. Dick was in the reclined front passenger seat, curled up in a ball, using his jacket as a poor excuse of a covering and the middle consol as a makeshift pillow. He too, was fast asleep.

Damian looked back towards Jason, and out the window behind his head. There were trees, everywhere. All around them. And that’s when he remembered – they hadn’t reached anywhere they felt safe enough the afternoon before, so decided to pull off the road when it got dark, and hunker down in the car for the night.

It was morning now. _Late_ morning, if Damian was guessing right. He was almost surprised they hadn’t been found yet. This clearing wasn’t far from the road, and it was a well-traveled stretch by the locals, Dick had mentioned.

He heard Dick move, and looked back at him. Dick twisted and suddenly, Damian could see his face.

And just as suddenly, his nightmare came flooding back to him.

He blinked, and saw the slack-jaw expression, the bulbous cheeks, the makeup. Damian flinched, and looked away, but the hallucinations weren’t done, and weren’t specific for Dick. Jason’s eye was missing, and there were cuts across his face, and blood staining his neck, where in the dream it had been detached from his body.

Damian felt his breath start to ramp up again. Because it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real _, it wasn’t real…!_

He gasped, and instantly knew:

He was going to puke.

He spun around immediately, trying to dodge Jason’s legs and the top of Dick’s chair, jiggling at the door handle instantly. It took him a moment to realize it was locked, and as his fingers fumbled over the switch to unlock it, he heard Jason stir.

“Breakfast already?” He groaned sleepily, trying to sit up. Damian ignored him, though, as he tasted the vomit rushing rapidly up his throat. “Whoa, Damian, where’s the fi-”

When he finally got the door handle open, Damian practically fell from the car, stumbling over the boots he’d haphazardly thrown on his feet the day before, for a gas station rest stop.

He bumbled a few feet away, and had just reached grass, when he couldn’t take it anymore. He collapsed to his knees, and everything just…spilled out.

It was continuous for a few gags. The remnants of the burger and soda and salad he’d had the night before. He also tasted the ice cream in there somewhere. Then, finally, the bitter taste of his stomach lining, because there was nothing left, but his body wasn’t done.

As his heaves began to slowly subside, he heard another door to the car open. And when he felt he could, tears still streaming down his face, he glanced over his shoulder to find Dick standing there, with Jason still sitting in the backseat, but feet firmly on the gravel. Both patiently watching him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and Dick took that as a cue to come forward. “This is my fault.”

“Damian-”

 _“This is my fault!”_ Damian screeched, spinning back around and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He began to gently slam his hands against his eye sockets in punishment. “I’m a monster, I…destroyed everything. You should _let_ Father find us and throw me in jail. You’ll be better off.” He felt hands on his wrists, stopping his movement, and that made him cry harder. “You’ll _all_ be better off…!”

“Shhh, it’s alright, Damian.” Dick cooed gently, pulling Damian into his chest, and rocking him gently. Damian kept his hands against his eyes, and sobbed, even when he felt Dick wipe his mouth with a napkin from his pocket. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.”

“It was.” Damian wheezed behind his hands. He felt Dick look back towards the car, where he assumed Jason still was. “He decapitated you all first, and I just saw it in the car…!”

He gasped and everything flashed behind his eyelids. His real crime. The dream. His father. He felt his stomach roll again, and lurched to the side in case he puked again.

He didn’t, but all he could think was: “He’s not dead. He’s _never_ dead.” He felt Dick squeeze him. “Now he just lives in my head forever.”

Dick didn’t say anything for a moment. Just kept rocking Damian. Damian felt lips press and hold against his temple, and heard Dick sigh.

“Just send me to jail, Grayson.” Damian cried. “Turn me in. This isn’t your _problem_ , you shouldn’t have to _deal_ with-”

“No.” Dick whispered sternly. “I’m not sending you anywhere, kiddo. You’re stuck with me. _Forever_.”

“I’m sorry.” Damian croaked, even as Dick shifted, gathering Damian up to lift him. “I’m so sorry, Grayson. This is my fault, I’ve ruined _everything_.”

“Don’t be. You haven’t.” Dick hummed as he stood. He shifted Damian’s weight a little, before turning and walking back towards the car. “It’ll take time, I told you that. But we’ll get there. We’ll all be okay.”

Damian was too exhausted to say anything else, just sobbed into Dick’s collar. Dick inhaled and glanced at Jason, who as still half-sitting in the car.

“I guess I’m driving this leg?” Jason asked with a smirk as he stood, and held his hand out. Dick grinned gratefully back, digging with his almost-free hand in his pocket for the car keys, and dropping them into Jason’s hands. “I know a place a few hours from here. Deep in the woods; a little cabin thing.” He paused, thoughtfully. “I think Talia owns it, honestly.”

“At this point, I don’t care.” Dick shook his head. “Get us there, Hood. Fast as possible.”

“On it.” Jason leaned forward, kissed Damian’s forehead, and gently wiped a tear away. “Don’t you fret one bit, little buddy. We gotcha.”

Dick watched for a moment, while Jason trotted around the car to the driver’s side. He kept his face pressed against Damian’s, carefully raising the hood over the child’s head.

“We’ll get him out of there, Damian. I promise.” Dick whispered, as Jason dropped into the seat, and leaned over to raise the passenger one, so Dick could get in the back. “The Joker doesn’t _get_ to be in your head. Not now, and not forever. I won’t _let_ him.”

Damian just whimpered. Jason started the car. Dick carefully got in the backseat, covered Damian and himself with the comforter, and closed the door.

And they drove off.


End file.
